


Jezebel

by qthelights



Category: Castle (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Seduction, Teasing, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/pseuds/qthelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has always been the baby on the Castle set, but at nineteen, it's time they started acknowledging her adulthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jezebel

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, the cast has no significant others in this reality. My first fic in Castle fandom, which I thought would be Ryan/Esposito. This happened instead. With many thanks to bantha_fodder for her wonderful beta.

She’d gotten over the fact that she worked with children years ago. But they’d failed to come to grips with her no longer being a child.

When she’d started filming Castle she’d been fifteen years old and, admittedly, a baby. It made sense that Nathan treated her like his surrogate daughter; even if, as surrogate fathers go, he’d be a terrible one, always getting her into more trouble than she ever could have found on her own. It made sense that Stana listened to her earnestly the way a mother or aunt does to a child they care for, and that Jon and Seamus treated her like their kid sister. Jon and Seamus treating her like a child annoys her the most.

At nineteen, she could by now have three children of her own, a drug habit, plastic surgery. Babies, blow and boobs. The fact that she doesn’t makes her no less of a woman. She hasn’t been a flowering virgin for a long time. But they still tease her, especially the boys. Jon will be all deadpan twinkles and Seamus dimples and teeth as they call her baby sister and Mollykins and Little Castle. She can’t help but want to push back, wipe the smirks off their faces and get them to recognise her as the woman she’s grown to be. 

The idea comes to her late one night as she’s trying to fall asleep in time to get a few hours before her early morning call time.

A seduction.

There are less dramatic ways to go about proving her adulthood, sure. If it doesn’t work, and there’s a pretty good chance of that... well, it would fuck up more than just the way they treat her. It’d pretty much sign her death warrant on the show, not because they’d fire her but because she’d be too ashamed to show her face again. 

On the other hand... if it worked, they’d have no doubt that she was in fact anything but a child. And well, it’s _Jon_ and _Seamus_ ; she’d be insane not to find them about the hottest men she’s ever met.

She picks Seamus as her target. It’s pretty clear to her, if to no one else, that he and Jon want to be fucking. The whole ‘we’re brothers’ bullshit aside, she knows what it looks like when two people are smitten.

For a moment she thinks she could try for Jon. But Jon, who she’s always had a weird big brother kink for, is way too far up on a pedestal for her to reach. If she doesn’t reach high enough she’ll miss him and that will lead to an embarrassing fall from which she knows she won’t recover.

And while she loves Nathan, she loves him like a father. And eww, no.

No, Seamus is the linchpin to the scenario. Plus, she’s watched the way Jon looks at him. The fondness when Seamus grins wide and his nose crinkles in laughter; the way Seamus reduces Jon to ridiculousness he’d never stoop to on his own. If she gets Seamus, she gets Jon too and it isn’t like he’s just an ends to a means. It’s _Seamus_ , who is adorable and fucking hot at the same time. Not many men, at least not the ones she’s met thus far in life, can pull that off. 

And call her greedy, but she wants them both. Hey, it’s a plan, not a martyrdom. If she gets off in the process, so much the better. She _is_ a woman after all, and women have needs.

She comes down the corridor on set a few days later and finds Seamus and Jon in high director’s chairs, sniggering over a dirty magazine, a prop for the week’s episode. Porn magnate choked to death and buried in his own dirty mags. Castle is pretty excited. Imagine.

Seeing them there, Jon making a lewd gesture and Seamus throwing his head back in laughter, she sees her opportunity. They don’t hear her approach; they’re engrossed in whatever dirty conversation the reading material has brought about, plus she’s behind them and her Vans make no noise against the concrete of the sound stage.

Leaning between their shoulders unannounced she finds them looking at a glossy spread of two girls pleasuring one fairly unattractive guy. Not the ratio of men to women she’d have, but still, for the sake of the plan, she’ll play devil’s advocate.

“That’s pretty hot,” she comments, casually. 

“Fuck,” Jon exclaims, clutching at his chest like he’s having a heart attack. Seamus snatches the magazine away and shoves it inside his jacket. His face flushes pink with embarrassment. 

“Fucking is what it looked like, yes,” she agrees.

“Oh my god we’re going to hell,” Seamus moans at the ceiling, as if waiting for avenging angels to arrive and kick him downwards. “Corrupting a minor.”

“I’m hardly a minor,” she says, indignant.

“You’re minor enough for Fillion to have our asses for letting you see that,” Jon says. Seamus does his slow head nodding thing.

“What he doesn’t know.” 

“Nathan _always_ knows,” Seamus replies to her as she moves around in front of their chairs. “He’s like a ninja or something.”

“How’s about we don’t tell Dad about what we just saw,” Jon smirks, clearly confident she isn’t going to get them in trouble if he asks her not to tattle.

“I’m hardly going to blush over a bit of second-rate porn,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“No?” Jon asks with an amused glint to his eye at the time as Seamus quizzically asks, “Second-rate?”

She sidles in between Seamus’ splayed knees. He laughs nervously, hands held out and away from her like she’s radioactive. He clearly isn’t sure what she’s doing and she uses it to her advantage. “Come on, you think you can find the good stuff in _Playboy_ , seriously?” she taunts, a careful eye on Jon’s expression - currently artfully blank.

“Um, I never really...” Seamus stammers, and even though she isn’t looking at him as she watches Jon, she knows Seamus is looking to Jon also, reaching for help in unchartered waters.

When he speaks, Jon’s voice has lowered a register, plays in the dirty gravel of his vocal chords. Hook meet line. She knows if she plays this right, in the way women just _know_ , that it is a done deal. “And where do you find your porn then, Chica?”

Seamus is making a confused this-is-so-not-good kind of grumbling noise which she finds both adorable and patronising. She knows what she’s doing and they really need to get with the program. So what if her heart is beating a rapid staccato in her chest? She blanks her face calm, acts ‘control’ for all she’s worth.

She raises a perfectly arched brow. “Why go looking when I can make my own?” she says sweetly and tilts her mouth to lick a stripe up the stubbled roughness of Seamus’ throat.

The choked noise that punches out of Seamus’ lungs would be satisfaction enough, keep her going for at least a few months on recall alone if this all goes south. The groan, quietly tortured, that comes from Jon to her left is just icing on the cake. Hook and line, meet sinker. 

It’s possible Seamus is stunned, rather than just not pulling away from her, but she takes advantage of his stillness nonetheless, lets her mouth trail up to his ear and nip on his earlobe. He groans, this time high up in his chest. She can hear the conflict in the way his breath stutters out against her hair, the way his muscles tense for flight. “I’m not your sister,” she murmurs, dark but reassuring against the shell of his ear. “Not a kid.”

The shudder that goes through him, that she feels against the tensely strung _want_ of her skin, ends with his fingers settling on the curves of her hips. They’re feather-light, but they don’t push her away. It’s a start.

“Fuck,” Jon says under his breath and she pulls away from Seamus’ throat for a better view. Seamus has his eyes closed, his brow crinkled in internal dilemma, but Jon’s eyes are open, pupils blown wide and melding into the dark ink of his irises. 

And then Jon’s moving, out of the creaking chair and pushing in behind her. Pins her in the v of Seamus’ legs and his own chest. It’s possible the noise she makes is a mewl, but she’s too turned on to be embarrassed by anything so _youthful_ , craning her head back against Jon’s shoulder until he can turn her just enough to find her mouth with his. He tastes like coffee. 

It’s ironic that her target was Seamus but she hit Jon instead.

Jon’s hands cradle her face to either side of her cheeks, tilting her where he wants her, and she lets him. Any control they have now is control she’s given them, a point she’s made. Childhood stripped away. As Jon deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping in and claiming, Seamus’ hands clench tightly on her hips, proving her right about who wants whom in this scenario. She can feel Seamus shifting in the chair, edging closer, the growing hardness of his erection pressing at her stomach, matching the bulge Jon is pressing into her hip. Seamus buries his face in the crook of her throat, mouthing and tasting her skin.

She is consumed, she is adored.

Unfortunately, as is the way with many plans, her bluff is not foolproof. The hands and mouths are overwhelming, and a slight thrill of panic shivers down to her gut. Two grown men boxing her in with intent is more potential power than she’d bargained for. A heartbeat passes, threatens her to fly, but then another goes past and she remembers who she’s with. 

It’s Jon’s thumbs sweeping back and forth across her cheekbones, softly calloused caresses meant to reassure as he kisses her. His tongue soothes across hers, his lips soft and plump against her own suck in her lower lip and bite down gently.

The hands softening on her waist, sliding farther to her lower back - anchoring - belong to Seamus. Seamus who would defend her to his last breath, whose breath is currently ghosting across her collarbone as the slope of his nose traces the tendons in her throat. She runs a hand over the top of his thigh, the wool of Kevin Ryan’s dress pants soft under her fingers. She wants to feel the skin underneath, the muscles cording around her waist as she sinks down. God, she _wants_.

She slides her other arm back awkwardly, curling only slightly around Jon’s waist. It’s almost painful but she wouldn’t change it for the world.

Jon would, though, and he laughs; soft puffs of warm air against her lips as he pulls back, eyes full of lust mixed with undeniable fondness.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of set?” Jon says, but he makes no move to pull away, reaches out instead to trail the tips of his fingers down Seamus’ cheek in a way that makes both Molly and Seamus shiver.

“Uh, perhaps not,” Seamus stutters eventually, his voice a tone that she has never heard from him before, cracked and broken. 

“Trailer,” she says firmly and Jon’s face splits into a wide grin.

“I have a closer idea,” Jon says and steps back, a cool draft of wind rushing in against her back. He holds out his hand to her, and when she takes it he leads her out of Seamus’ legs. Jon pauses, looks at Seamus who has made no move to get up yet, blinking owlishly at the both of them.

“Coming?” Jon asks, gentling his tone. 

“What, oh, yeah!” Seamus startles, unwittingly giving a very good impression of Detective Ryan. Seamus isn’t quite so bashful, or bumbling, as his alter ego and he slips from the chair with ease.

Jon doesn’t drop Molly’s hand, but he does turn away from her and towards his friend. It’s a private moment, one she’s almost embarrassed witnessing. Jon’s free hand comes up around the back of Seamus’ neck, fingers threading into his hair. “You cool, bro?” Jon asks, using the affectation the writers took and made Esposito’s.

She can see the blue of Seamus’ eyes earnestly staring at Jon. For a heart-breakingly long moment, he says nothing. Then he grins, dimples flaring as he takes Jon’s mouth with his own. Molly hears her intake of breath but this time doesn’t even think about the naivety she might be showing; her legs feel like jelly and she squirms at the wetness between her legs. Yes, this was a very good plan. 

When they pull back, she clears her throat.

“Patience, lil’ sis,” Seamus grins at her and Jon laughs, claps him on the shoulder and turns to move them on, her hand still tight in his.

Apparently they’re going to keep referring to her as if she were still fifteen, despite what she’s just initiated, the plan she’s near perfectly executed. 

Jon brings them to the faux “men’s room” door by the elevators that opens into nothing but a nook to stash set dressing. Inside they are safely hidden away from any errant cast or crew.

As Jon pushes her up against the nearest wall, fingers sensuously slipping over the swell of her breast and dipping into her cleavage; and as Seamus falls to his knees in front of her, warm hands skimming up her thighs and under Alexis’ prep-school skirt, she thinks she’s pretty much fine with them calling her whatever they want.

They can call her baby sister, protect her, mother her, father her, big brother her, whatever. As long as for the next half hour to, say, forty-five minutes, they keep treating her exactly like they are.

So yeah, she may not get the endgame of her plan but at least she’ll get the seduction. Sometimes a woman has to compromise.

It’s the adult thing to do.

End.


End file.
